The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (27 page)

Listening
to that session I was almost sorry we got rid of Mort the Wart. He stayed holed
up with his women and didn’t tell us how to run private lives.

But
Prof didn’t get excited; he went on smiling. “Manuel, do you really
think that mob of retarded children can pass any laws?”

“You
told them to. Urged them to.”

“My
dear Manuel, I was simply putting all my nuts in one basket. I know those nuts;
I’ve listened to them for years. I was very careful in selecting their
committees; they all have built-in confusion, they will quarrel. The chairman I
forced on them while letting them elect him is a ditherer who could not unravel
a piece of string—thinks every subject needs ‘more study.’ I
almost needn’t have bothered; more than six people cannot agree on
anything, three is better—and one is perfect for a job that one can do.
This is why parliamentary bodies all through history, when they accomplished
anything, owed it to a few strong men who dominated the rest. Never fear, son,
this Ad-Hoc Congress will do nothing … or if they pass something through
sheer fatigue, it will be so loaded with contradictions that it will have to be
thrown out. In the meantime they are out of our hair. Besides, there is
something we need them for, later.”

“Thought
you said they could do nothing.”

“They
won’t do this. One man will write it—a dead man—and late at
night when they are very tired, they’ll pass it by acclamation.”

“Who’s
this dead man? You don’t mean Mike?”

“No,
no! Mike is far more alive than those yammerheads. The dead man is Thomas
Jefferson—first of the rational anarchists, my boy, and one who once
almost managed to slip over his non-system through the most beautiful rhetoric
ever written. But they caught him at it, which I hope to avoid. I cannot
improve on his phrasing; I shall merely adapt it to Luna and the twenty-first
century.”

“Heard
of him, Freed slaves, nyet?”

“One
might say he tried but failed. Never mind. How are the defenses progressing? I
don’t see how we can keep up the pretense past the arrival date of this
next ship.”

“Can’t
be ready then.”

“Mike
says we must be.”

We
weren’t but ship never arrived. Those scientists outsmarted me and
Loonies I had told to watch them. Was a rig at focal point of biggest reflector
and Loonie assistants believed doubletalk about astronomical purpose—a
new wrinkle in radiotelescopes.

I
suppose it was. Was ultramicrowave and stuff was bounced at reflector by a wave
guide and thus left scope lined up nicely by mirror. Remarkably like early
radar. And metal latticework and foil heat shield of barrel stopped stray
radiation, thus “ears” I had staked out heard nothing.

They
put message across, their version and in detail. First we heard was demand from
Authority to Warden to deny this hoax, find hoaxer, put stop to it.

So
instead we gave them a Declaration of Independence.

“In
Congress assembled, July Fourth, Twenty-Seventy-Six—”

Was
beautiful.

Signing
of Declaration of Independence went as Prof said it would. He sprang it on them
at end of long day, announced a special session after dinner at which Adam
Selene would speak. Adam read aloud, discussing each sentence, then read it
without stopping, making music of sonorous phrases. People wept. Wyoh, seated
by me, was one, and I felt like it even though had read it earlier.

Then
Adam looked at them and said, “The future is waiting. Mark well what you
do,” and turned meeting over to Prof rather than usual chairman.

Was
twenty-two hundred and fight began. Sure, they were in favor of it; news all
day had been jammed with what bad boys we were, how we were to be punished,
taught a lesson, so forth. Not necessary to spice it up; stuff up from
Earthside was nasty—Mike merely left out on-other-hand opinions. If ever
was a day when Luna felt unified it was probably second of July 2076.

So
they were going to pass it; Prof knew that before he offered it.

But
not as written—“Honorable Chairman, in second paragraph, that word
‘unalienable,’ is no such word; should be
‘inalienable’—and anyhow wouldn’t it be more dignified
to say ‘sacred rights’ rather than ‘inalienable
rights’? I’d like to hear discussion on this.”

That
choom was almost sensible, merely a literary critic, which is harmless, like
dead yeast left in beer. But—Well, take that woman who hated everything.
She was there with list; read it aloud and moved to have it incorporated into
Declaration “so that the peoples of Terra will know that we are civilized
and fit to take our places in the councils of mankind!”

Prof
not only let her get away with it; he encouraged her, letting her talk when
other people wanted to—then blandly put her proposal to a vote when
hadn’t even been seconded. (Congress operated by rules they had wrangled
over for days. Prof was familiar with rules but followed them only as suited
him.) She was voted down in a shout, and left.

Then
somebody stood up and said of course that long list didn’t belong in
Declaration—but shouldn’t we have general principles? Maybe a
statement that Luna Free State guaranteed freedom, equality, and security to
all? Nothing elaborate, just those fundamental principles that everybody knew
was proper purpose of government.

True
enough and let’s pass it—but must read “Freedom, equality, peace,
and security”—right, Comrade? They wrangled over whether
“freedom” included “free air,” or was that part of
“security”? Why not be on safe side and list “free air”
by name? Move to amend to make it “free air and
water”—because you didn’t have “freedom” or
“security” unless you had both air and water.

Air,
water, and food.

Air,
water, food, and cubic.

Air,
water, food, cubic, and heat.

No,
make “heat” read “power” and you had it all covered.
Everything.

Cobber,
have you lost your mind? That’s far from everything and what you’ve
left out is an affront to all womankind—Step outside and say that! Let me
finish. We’ve got to tell them right from deal that we will permit no
more ships to land unless they carry at least as many women as men. At least, I
said—and I for one won’t chop it unless it sets immigration issue
straight.

Prof
never lost dimples.

Began
to see why Prof had slept all day and was not wearing weights. Me, I was tired,
having spent all day in p-suit out beyond catapult head cutting in last of
relocated ballistic radars. And everybody was tired; by midnight crowd began to
thin, convinced that nothing would be accomplished that night and bored by any
yammer not their own.

Was
later than midnight when someone asked why this Declaration was dated fourth
when today was second? Prof said mildly that it was July third now—and it
seemed unlikely that our Declaration could be announced earlier than fourth and
that July fourth carried historical symbolism that might help.

Several
people walked out at announcement that probably nothing would be settled until
fourth of July. But I began to notice something: Hall was filling as fast as
was emptying. Finn Nielsen slid into a seat that had just been vacated. Comrade
Clayton from Hong Kong showed up, pressed my shoulder, smiled at Wyoh, found a
seat. My youngest lieutenants. Slim and Hazel, I spotted down front—and
was thinking I must alibi Hazel by telling Mum I had kept her out on Party
business—when was amused to see Mum herself next to them. And Sidris. And
Greg, who was supposed to be at new catapult.

Looked
around and picked out a dozen more—night editor of Lunaya Pravda, General
Manager of LuNoHoCo, others, and each one a working comrade, Began to see that
Prof had stacked deck. That Congress never had a fixed membership; these dinkum
comrades had as much right to show up as those who had been talking a month.
Now they sat—and voted down amendments.

About
three hundred, when I was wondering how much more I could take, someone brought
a note to Prof. He read it, banged gavel and said, “Adam Selene begs your
indulgence. Do I hear unanimous consent?”

So
screen back of rostrum lighted up again and Adam told them that he had been
following debate and was warmed by many thoughtful and constructive criticisms.
But could he made a suggestion? Why not admit that any piece of writing was
imperfect? If thin declaration was in general what they wanted, why not
postpone perfection for another day and pass this as it stands?
“Honorable Chairman, I so move.”

They
passed it with a yell. Prof said, “Do I hear objection?” and waited
with gavel raised. A man who had been talking when Adam had asked to be heard
said, “Well, . . I still say that’s a dangling participle, but
okay, leave it in.”

Prof
hanged gavel. “So ordered!”

Then
we filed up and put our chops on a big scroll that had been “sent over
from Adam’s office”—and I noticed Adam’s chop on it. I
signed right under Hazel—child now could write although was still short
on book learning. Her chop was shaky but she wrote it large and proud. Comrade
Clayton signed his Party name, real name in letters, and Japanese chop, three
little pictures one above other. Two comrades chopped with X’s and had
them witnessed. All Party leaders were there that night (morning), all chopped
it, and not more than a dozen yammerers stuck. But those who did, put their
chops down for history to read. And thereby committed “their lives, their
fortunes, and their sacred honors.”

While
queue was moving slowly past and people were talking, Prof banged for
attention. “I ask for volunteers for a dangerous mission. This
Declaration will go on the news channels—but must be presented in person
to the Federated Nations, on Terra.”

That
put stop to noise. Prof was looking at me. I swallowed and said, “I volunteer.”
Wyoh echoed, “So do I!”—and little Hazel Meade said,
“Me, too!”

In
moments were a dozen, from Finn Nielsen to Gospodin Dangling-Participle (turned
out to be good cobber aside from his fetish). Prof took names, murmured
something about getting in touch as transportation became available.

I
got Prof aside and said, “Look, Prof, you too tired to track? You know
ship for seventh was canceled; now they’re talking about slapping embargo
on us. Next ship they lift for Luna will be a warship. How you planning to
travel? As prisoner?”

“Oh,
we won’t use their ships.”

“So?
Going to build one? Any idea how long that takes? If could build one at all.
Which I doubt.”

“Manuel,
Mike says it’s necessary—and has it all worked out.”

I
did know Mike said was necessary; he had rerun problem soon as we learned that
bright laddies at Richardson had snuck one home—he now gave us only one
chance in fifty-three … with imperative need for Prof to go Earthside.
But I’m not one to worry about impossibilities; I had spent day working
to make that one chance in fifty-three turn up.

“Mike
will provide the ship,” Prof went on. “He has completed its design
and it is being worked on.”

“He
has? It is? Since when is Mike engineer?”

“Isn’t
he?” asked Prof.

I
started to answer, shut up. Mike had no degrees. Simply knew more engineering
than any man alive. Or about Shakespeare’s plays, or riddles, or history,
name it. “Tell me more.”

“Manuel,
we’ll go to Terra as a load of grain.”

“What?
Who’s ‘we’?”

“You
and myself. The other volunteers are merely decorative.”

I
said, “Look, Prof. I’ve stuck. Worked hard when whole thing seemed
silly. Worn these weights—got ‘em on now—on chance I might
have to go to that dreadful place. But contracted to go in a ship, with at
least a Cyborg pilot to help me get down safely. Did not agree to go as
meteorite.”

He
said, “Very well, Manuel. I believe in free choice, always. Your
alternate will go.”

“My—Who?”

“Comrade
Wyoming. So far as I know she is the only other person in training for the trip
… other than a few Terrans.”

So
I went. But talked to Mike first. He said patiently. “Man my first
friend, there isn’t a thing to worry about. You are scheduled load KM187
series ‘76 and you’ll arrive in Bombay with no trouble. But to be
sure—to reassure you—I selected that barge because it will be taken
out of parking orbit and landed when India is faced toward me, and I’ve
added an override so that I can take you away from ground control if I
don’t like the way they handle you. Trust me, Man, it has all been
thought through. Even the decision to continue shipments when security was
broken was part of this plan.”

“Might
have told me.”

“There
was no need to worry you. Professor had to know and I’ve kept in touch
with him. But you are going simply to take care of him and back him up—do
his job if he dies, a factor on which I can give you no reassurance.”

I
sighed. “Okay. But, Mike, surely you don’t think you can pilot a
barge into a soft landing at this distance? Speed of light alone would trip
you.”

“Man,
don’t you think I understand ballistics? For the orbital position then,
from query through reply and then to command-received is under four seconds
… and you can rely on me not to waste microseconds. Your maximum
parking-orbit travel in four seconds is only thirty-two kilometers, diminishing
asymptotically to zero at landing. My reflex time will be effectively less than
that of a pilot in a manual landing because I don’t waste time grasping a
situation and deciding on correct action. So my maximum is four seconds. But my
effective reflex time is much less, as I project and predict constantly, see
ahead, program it out—in effect, I’ll stay four seconds ahead of
you in your trajectory and respond instantly.”

“That
steel can doesn’t even have an altimeter!”